Let's face it - Austria's a hard country to love. It's not like Australia, or Ireland, or crazy old Iceland - those razzy, feel-good nations anyone would invite round for gin and Pictionary. Austria's image is a bit, well - “slightly off-putting” would be wildly understating it. This is the country that started the First World War, invented a fascism so regionally specific they called it Austrofascism and gave us Hitler. And since the war Hitler started - in which, sadly, 70 million people died - the only time Austria's been in the news has been whenever one its citizens is discovered to have fashioned some novel underground prison and hidden an unfortunate child there.

On top of all this, Austria has wine that tastes like fox urine, a selection of wholly irredeemable cheeses and manufactures the world's most disgusting, unenvironmentally friendly sweet, PEZ; a Tic-Tac that comes in a miniature animal-headed tank made of pure asbestos.

Given all this, I'm under no illusions. No illusions at all. I know the only other people who'll be supporting Austria, aside from me, once the tournament starts, are people who literally pulled the word “AUSTRIA” out of a hat during the office sweepstake and are now regarding the whole thing with an air of mild depression.

But you know what? I like an underdog. I feel for an outcast. After all, those 13 plucky Austrian guys on the pitch - or nine, or however many it is; I'm a little sketchy on some of the more technical aspects of football - didn't start the Second World War personally. They're all out there on the grass for, erm, whatever it is that all those football guys are out there for. And I, for one, intend to cheer them on in that as yet non-defined-to-me mission. As you can see from the picture, I am wearing that one predator-like, weapon-wielding, dementedly screaming eagle of Austria on my chest with pride. Because out there on the pitch, Austria aren't just playing football. No. They're battling to instil one, single positive image of their nation into the Earth's consciousness, against odds of approximately 60/1. And in the absence of genuinely giving a stuff either way about the whole event, that'll do me.